Improvin' Da Truth
by autumnamberleaves
Summary: No one would have guessed that HE was the best at improvin' da truth. They didn't know and they regreted it.


Disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies. All I own is a DVD and CD of the movie.

Improvin' Da Truth

"_Maybe we'll get a good headline tomorrow" _

A good headline. What an oxymoron. For a good headline there had to be something bad to happen. A murder, a war, a revolt during the trolley strike for example. Headlines were good today and for the first time in my life, I longed for the days of boring, hard to sell papes. It's difficult to concentrate on business when news hits close to home.

I never thought it would be him. Them to be more specific. No, I still ain't tellin' the story it should be told. Huh. Who would'a thought that I'd have trouble tellin' a tale. Then again, I spin headlines, improve da truth. Make it bigger, bettah. More, what's the word? Oh right, sensational. There ain't a newsie out there who could hawk an improved headline for this event. I'd even bet Race on that.

Maybe I was all wrong about him. Who knew that the one who seemed to have the perfect life lived the biggest lie? I thought I had him figured out the moment we met.

"_Our father told us not to lie." _

Ironically, that had been his first lie to me. His father had taught his sons and daughter to 'improve da truth,' in any way possible. Easier to keep dirty laundry out of the public eye. I hadn't given it any thought at the time but didn't the boy's eyes seem to shift as if trying to misdirect. I had stupidly assumed it was anger at me for conning some customer into buying a pape.

"_You smell like beer!" _

He'd been angry, just short of livid at his little brother. It was only a sip-one too many for a kid not yet a teenager. I'd been forced to play the peacemaker role. Peacemaker? Me? It didn't fit but it did. A not-so-obvious clue had been formed in his statement and it wasn't only his words. I had only thought he was being the big brother. I never dreamed the teenager would have something other than that in his mind. I didn't know how his family was being torn apart by the demon of alcoholism.

"_Your family's real nice." _

I had been in their home, taken part of dinner with them. I prided myself that I was observant; one didn't survive the life of a newsie being caught unawares. How was it then, that I missed obvious signs? The kids had rushed to obey their father's commands, jumping up to get plates and a knife as if their chairs had nails on them. I'd thought it was just excitement over the day of being a newsie, and of a father's birthday. I was wrong. I had been blind. The kids with their smiles and happiness were only improvin' da truth.

"_He's no good to them anymore so they just fired him." _

He'd practically admitted that something was not right with the picture I'd formed in my head of his family. What sort of father simply took being fired sitting down? One either fought back at the company or his next choice-his family. I should'a known, I had already lived through Hell. I knew the signs but didn't recognize them in someone I'd come to envy.

"_Want to stay here tonight?" _

If I could turn back time, I would have right there. I'd have stayed and maybe I would have seen the signs I failed to see earlier. I had taken his offer with a slight scoff, thinking that I wouldn't accept charity from anybody. And staying at his house would be allowing charity. Or so I had thought. Maybe the offer was more intended to improve da truth. People are different when it's not only family that's watchin'. I should'a stayed or baring that, offered to let him stay in the Lodging House. 'Course I'd have made it a dare to save his pride. Sometimes pride is the only thing a guy has left.

"_They've got the power!" _

He'd argued against leading the newsie strike at first. He didn't think a bunch of kids could stand up to a newspaper tycoon who ran New York. I had, all of us experienced newsies had only taken him as a sissy, a chap with no street sense. I wish we could have seen through our assumptions to the real truth. When life kept beating you, didn't you ever feel hopeless? We should have understood him, he'd been taught that adults had the power and there was nothing you could do about it. I'd felt it that night I turned scab. I even said to Crutchy in the Refuge, "We's was beat when we's was born!" Yeah, I knew desperation. I hadn't seen it in him though.

My friend had changed his mind pretty quickly and not only joined the strike but helped lead it. Maybe he thought that by helping with the strike, he'd be doing something to fight not only the newspaper mongrels but all adults.

"_Da Walkin' Mouth."_

The Walkin' Mouth, full of opinions, full of words. Hell, he'd been the Mouth behind my words. My words were his words to the other kids. He'd gained the courage to say his words to Pulitzer before the strike had ended. Spot and truth be told, I had been impressed with what the new kid had to say. Spot had coined the name that had stuck with him for the rest of his time as a newsie. It turned out that the Mouth really didn't say all the words he should. He'd been silent on things he should have told.

"_Why didn't you tell me?" _

He'd asked me that very question that fateful night of the Rally. My world had unraveled in the courtroom for all my friends, my real family to see. For the first time in years I was Francis Sullivan, son of a convict, and not Jack Kelly, self-assured newsie. None of my friends were happy with the news of my real past but he least of all. The betrayal in his eyes only second to my brief stint as a scab.

I thought over his question. "Why didn't you tell me?" Well, why didn't he? He's the one who didn't like lying. Why did he have to lie about that of all things? We could'a helped him. We would'a been his new family, his real family. Didn't he see during the strike that newsies stick together? For most of us, our friends are our family.

He didn't tell. He never told.

_Improvin' Da Truth_

"Teenager killed: Fire set to apartment building hides gruesome discovery" The headline gamely read. I hawked the headline to a passerby I barely recognized who stopped.

"Here you go sonny." He tossed me the money in exchange for a pape. I watched him scan the article. "Sick people in the world today, make for an entertaining article instead of those droll ones for once though." He had no idea.

"Say kid, don't you normally sell with another boy?" What was I supposed to say to that?

"Sir, I did but he's your entertainment today." I walked away.

_Family of teenager fled to safety, father in custody _the article read. One more family was torn apart from tragedy. It was all senseless. He had gotten his mother and siblings out of the fire when his father had attacked him. He never made it to safety.

I kept walking, going really nowhere yet far away. Papes still weighted on my arms forgotten. Voices reached my ears and I slowly turned around. Somehow I had ended up at the Statue. People were all milling around, going along in their busy lives as if nothing important had happened.

Past the statue, near the Lodging House where he would have been welcomed stood a makeshift wooden cross. A couple of the younger newsies had donated their only toys, wooden swords to craft the memorial. His body had not been in a state even fit for proper burial but we could remember him in our own way. Specs, being good with writing had penned the words.

_**To the memory of a leader Davey "Walking Mouth" Jacobs. Seize the day. We miss you.**_

I cleared my throat.

"A Hero died today!" Simple yet more telling than even the article. For he had been a hero, maybe not in the conventional sense but to the kids of New York, he had been one as a strike leader and friend.

I was wrong, I did improve da truth of the pape and I didn't even lie.


End file.
